Days are longer, the air still cold.
Or am I weary of the winter old?
The deep freeze soon shall reveal
Chloris, the Verde hitherto concealed.
Once too often to be a tease,
The grey and white hues shall ease.
Arbor twigs creep and shoot green,
Can hear them in silence, almost seen.
They crawl at night,
Out of grey, out of white.
The sudden warmth, rekindles the thought
Of love, and the spirit we always sought.
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Past summer days are all but lost,
Their vague images we tenderly guard,
In flash-memories of the heart.
They shall be upon us once again,
Swoop us up, make us dream again.
That ethereal recurring dream
Lingers not when the earth isn’t green.
How illusive! Keenly felt, almost seen.
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